Hearts and Minds
by attackamazon
Summary: After preventing Justice from killing an innocent girl, Hawke is forced to acknowledge the increasing peril of Anders' situation.  But the only person she can turn to for help is also the most dangerous, and the cure may be worse than the disease.
1. The Rock and the Hard Place

_After finishing up my epilogue "Fallen", I wanted to go back and look at some of the things that led up to the plot points in that story. In particular, I wanted to explore the relationship between Hawke and Cullen and a certain secret. In my "Aenora Hawke" series, this story takes place about a year before "Always" and directly after the events of Dissent in-game. However, I would read "Always" and "Fallen" before this one, if you want to be surprised by those stories. I also intend to write this story in shorter chunks than my previous ones, so there probably be quite a few chapters. As always, I hope you enjoy it and I love reading you guys' thoughts on the story. :) Oh, and I've rated this one T, because I anticipate some "adult themes" later on. Because you can't write a Hawke-Cullen fic without tension and steaminess popping up sooner or later, can you?_

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><p><em>How do you fight something you can't see?<em> This was the question that Aenora Hawke sifted through her mind as she emerged from the claustrophobic gloom of Darktown and made her way back to the light and air of her Hightown manor. Dawn was starting to creep across the City of Chains, painting a pale and anemic glow over the cliffs and houses. The city could be beautiful sometimes in its own austere way, but she had too much else on her mind this morning to notice.

Last night's sortie had turned out to be more of an ordeal than she had anticipated when she had agreed to help Anders. There had always been the chance that they would encounter trouble…and, really, was there ever _not_ trouble where her friends were concerned? She had not expected to encounter the man himself, though, caught in the very act they were there to investigate. It wasn't remorse that gnawed at her now, however. Alrik was as much a monster as any darkspawn she had fought. More so, even, because he had a choice and a will, because he had used his sacred vows to mask his warped and sadistic urges. It sickened and enraged her, and she was not sorry to have dealt him the fatal blow. It was the collateral damage that hammered at her heart now.

_How do you fight something you can't see?_ It had been years by now that she had known Anders. She had had her doubts at first, after the first uncontrolled upsurge of Justice during that ill-fated rescue attempt at the Chantry, but there had been no second event and he had become a useful ally, as well as a friend. _And more than a friend now_, she admitted painfully to herself as she turned onto her road. The first time, she could understand. There were limits to what any man could bear, and the target of Justice's ire had been appropriate, considering the circumstances. But last night…last night changed everything.

She unlocked her front door and stepped into the cool foyer. Bodahn would only just be stirring now, and she was glad of that. She was not in the mood for cheerful greetings this morning. Quickly scribbling a note for the steward that she was not to be disturbed until noon at the earliest, she hauled herself up the stairs and started to shuck off her plate armor and mail. It was in desperate need of cleaning, still splattered with the gore of battle, but it could wait. The questions that roiled through her mind, however, would not wait.

What on Thedas was she going to do about Anders? She did not have the wisdom or education to understand the particulars of what was happening between him and Justice, perhaps no one did, but it was clearly getting worse. To strike out at an innocent…that was not the Anders she thought she knew, nor was it in keeping with what she would have expected of a spirit of justice. Anders had mentioned that the merging had changed both of them, but she had not understood what he meant at the time. This was far more disturbing than anything she had previously imagined.

If he had not come back to himself in time, if he had actually made a move to harm the girl, she would have killed him. As much as the thought hurt her, a sword of pain through her own chest, she would have done it without hesitating. Afterwards, as she made her way back to the clinic to find him, she had grimly prepared herself to carry out the task anyway if it turned out the break had been permanent. But the horror and revulsion in his eyes and his voice were enough to stay her hand, for the moment. It did not remove the danger, though.

_Why do I always get involved with troubled men?_, she thought, wearily. Stripped of her clothes and with the worst of the grime washed from her skin, she stretched out on the bed. Clearly she had not learned her lesson the first time. But the wounds from that particular mistake had not yet scarred over enough to bear the weight of her heavy thoughts, so she turned them back to Anders. _How do you fight something you can't see_?

Justice was the problem, or rather the problem was the twisted melding of Justice and Anders that Anders sometimes called Vengeance, but they were inseparable. In order to act on one, she would have to act on the other. It was an impossible situation, and one that she was not in the least prepared to deal with. This had been her father's and Bethany's realm. Her realm was one where you could face your enemies eye to eye and sword to sword.

_I don't want to be his executioner_, she thought, cold dread clenching sickeningly in her throat. Nor could she turn him over to the templars. That would be a death sentence as surely as if she had plunged the sword into him herself, and she knew she could not live with that betrayal on her conscience. Bad enough, at this stage of things, to imagine him dead at all, the yawning hole that would be left in her heart once more after she had begun to make a place for him there. She had never so much as kissed him, but there was no denying that he lived there, in her heart, all the same, despite his protests. _I've already been hurt_, she thought, wryly, _at least let me have the benefit of it._ Whatever was to come of that, she could not just stand by and wait for the inevitable disaster to strike either, though. This was too large a problem for her alone. She needed help, guidance, but who would even understand what she was facing? Merrill? She might understand the problem, but the elf girl's apparently tenuous grasp of proportion and danger had always made Nora nervous where magic was concerned.

A preposterous idea struck her, then, and she tried to pushed it away. No, not _him._ And yet…and yet if anyone would know what to do to disarm an abomination, it would be Cullen. He was a templar, after all, that was part of what they were for. The idea had caught fire in her mind and burned unquenchably, consuming her thoughts. If she were to carry out this fool plan, she would have to lie about the exact circumstances of her troubles or the wary sufferance of Anders' freedom Cullen had maintained out of friendship to her and respect for the Grey Warden title would evaporate instantly. But he would help her, if he could, if she was careful not to step across the rigid lines of his vows. Even discounting the debt of honor owed for her occasional assistance with the Order's work, he was her friend, a good one, and there were few people in Kirkwall she would trust with a secret more. She disliked the necessary deception, but she would rather atone for that than for Anders' death and whoever he might take with him.

Wincing from the needle-pricks of bruises and sore muscles, she rolled over and slipped under the coverlet. The heavy drapes would keep the light and sounds of the world outside at bay for a little while. Then, after she had had a few hours of sleep, a bath, and a hot meal, she would pay an exploratory visit to the Knight-Captain and decide what was to be done.


	2. Love and Other Tortures

It had been a long day, and Cullen was more than ready for it to be over. He sighed as he looked at the ever-growing stacks of parchment and codices in his office. One day, he would have to wade through the mess, but in the mean time they seemed to be the least pressing of his many, many duties. One or two of the piles had been bequeathed to him by the previous Knight-Captain, who had been venerably retired these last four years, so being several years behind on his paperwork by now seemed almost a matter of upholding tradition. He could envision a chain of dossiers and reports, unread and unfinished, stretching through the years from over-burdened Knight-Captain to over-burdened Knight-Captain back to the founding of the Kirkwall Circle itself. It made for an interesting and not entirely un-amusing legacy.

Meredith had offered to assign him one of the Tranquil to assist him in organizing his office and affairs, extolling the virtues of her own assistant, but he had politely refused. There was no doubt the girl was capable, but her presence made him uneasy. The Tranquil did not suffer, or so the Chantry said, and it was a necessary function of dealing with mages, even a kindness in some cases, but he could not help a private feeling of sadness, tinged with a little guilt, for the afflicted. If only there were another way…

"Knight-Captain." A dead-pan voice said from behind him and he flinched a little at the coincidence, turning. It was not Meredith's assistance, but one of the others, a young man bearing the brand of Tranquility on his brow who acted as a messenger. He had left his door open, intending only to stop in for a moment before returning to his quarters to rest awhile before dinner, and the Tranquil stood there, unnervingly still and expressionless, waiting.

"Yes, what is it?'

"Mistress Aenora Hawke is waiting at the gates. She does not have an appointment, but requests to speak with you."

Cullen felt his heartbeat quicken slightly, but forced himself to maintain his sober expression. _Hawke_. He had actually been looking for a reason to speak to her for a month or so now, but had not yet found the time or the excuse. By now, they were friendly enough that he could have made it a social call, but the last time he had called upon the Hawke residence it had been to collect her sister for the Circle and he could not say what he wanted to say to her with her mother thinking poisonous thoughts at him nearby.

In fact, he could not bring himself to say what he wanted to say to her anywhere and that was the problem. His upbringing in the Chantry had not prepared him for this and his last experience along these lines had been…well, unfortunate and impossible. Or unfortunately impossible, and now a painfully moot point by any standards, he reminded himself. But this was different. There were no real barriers this time, only those he created for himself, Maker help him.

"Yes. Yes, of course." He said, rousing himself from his thoughts, "Show her in, please."

With the Tranquil gone, he shifted dusty stacks of vellum and ran his fingers through his hair, checking his reflection with disappointment in the mirrored pane of the window. Hawke was a practical woman, he knew, not much impressed by the petty appearance of things, but he sorely wished now that he had at least taken the time to wash his face before coming in off the practice field. Ah, well. Make do.

Soon, there was a rap at the door and he forced himself to move at a reasonable pace to open it. Mustn't appear too eager, he told himself, but the face that greeted him on the other side of the door stopped him in his thoughts as always.

Hawke was not beautiful by the courtly standards of Kirkwall. Her body was the compact and lean-muscled body of a soldier, not lithe and slim as was the fashion here. Her features, though well-proportioned, were robustly Ferelden, not delicate like a Marcher maiden. When she walked, she did not glide, she strode. To Cullen, though, she was exactly the sort of strong, independent woman he missed from his years in Ferelden and that was more beautiful to him than a dozen primped and painted courtiers, all the more so because he knew amidst the glorious outer wrapping, there lived one of the most genuinely good hearts he had ever met.

"Please, come in." he told her, stepping back to allow her in. She smiled at him, glancing around the office, and he could see one corner of her mouth turn up quirkily, endearingly, as she surveyed the piles of papers. If he remembered correctly, she had teased him about it before, mentioning the holocaust of innocent animals whose skins had gone into making the vellum for all those useless documents.

"I'm not interrupting you, am I?" she asked, "I know Meredith is keeping you busy lately. I wouldn't want to distract you from something important."

_Oh, distract me_, he thought, with a longing, inward smile, but only waved her to a chair.

"Not at all." He pulled up a chair to sit across from her rather than behind the desk. It felt like a barrier and he had more than enough mental barriers to fight through without adding a physical one. Besides, it had been too long since he had had a chance to be in her presence and he wanted to savor it, "How have you been? It has been…what two months nearly?"

"I believe so. I'm well enough." She said, but there was a slight…tension…in her words that he could not place. Nervousness? She had never seemed particularly nervous round him before, and for a brief moment he indulged himself in the fantasy that she might be suffering some mirror version of his own discomforting feelings. Whatever the case, there was clearly something on her mind, "And you, Cullen?"

"The same. Busier than I would like to be of late. The work of the Order is never done. As you can see." He said, with a smile, and was pleased when she returned it, "Actually, I have a matter that I would discuss with you, but it can wait. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

Her eyes shifted sideways away from him for a moment, her expression falling slightly, and he wondered with rampant curiosity what that portended. Truthfully, he had been worried about her anyway, lately. He had seen her once or twice in the Chantry, lost in prayer or her own meditations, with such a troubled expression on her face that he had been tempted to interrupt her to find out what had gone wrong. And, as always, there was the stray Grey Warden mage. His jaw tightened automatically at the thought. That was a different muddle for a different day, though.

"I have a question for you." She said, more cautiously than she generally spoke, "More of a request, really."

"If it is in my power to help, I will do what I can. You have certainly assisted me and the Order often enough." He said, diplomatically. Whatever she was thinking, this was apparently difficult for her, and he softened, "Whatever is said, it will not go beyond this room. I promise you that."

"I was wondering," she began, slowly, buying time to find the words, perhaps, "whether you could teach me a thing or two about dealing with abominations."

He sat back slightly, surprised. Not at all what he was expecting, but no less troubling.

"Why?"

"I've been seeing more and more of them in my work in the city." She replied. There was a note of discomfort in her voice that set something in the back of his mind crying out a warning, but he tried to shake it away. Hawke had never lied to him before that he knew of, even when what she had to say was difficult for him to hear. There was no real reason to suspect she would lie now, though he thought there was a chance she might hold something back if she thought it could hurt someone. That was almost as worrisome.

"We have had more reports recently, that is true." He concurred, slowly, tactfully, trying to read through her expression what was going on her mind, "Do you suspect that there are larger forces at work?"

She paused as if really considering this suggestion and then shook her head.

"I don't know. This is not my area of expertise. I do well enough, but I don't like to gamble lives on uncertainties where they can be corrected." She said, "I know that there is certain knowledge…certain talents…that templars have regarding this sort of thing. I thought perhaps you could teach me, so that I could be better prepared."

He watched her for a long moment, at the hopeful look in her face that she turned up to him. _She has no idea what she's asking for_, he thought, and shook his head. Even if she knew, it was an impossible request.

"You should let the Order deal with that." He said, gravely, "Abominations…apostate mages…are _dangerous_. I've seen what they can do to a person..."

_A flash of a pale, terrified face, mouth open in a silent rictus of agony…a feeling like a seething mass of tendril-like fingers in his mind, plucking at his memories, twisting his hidden desires into horrors too terrible to contemplate until he thought he would go mad, prayed for death as a means of ending it…_

"Cullen." Her voice said nearby and he snapped out of his thoughts, feeling cold sweat beading on his brow. For a split second Hawke's voice sounded like _hers_, but he knew it was an illusion. Even all these years later, the flashbacks still happened sometimes. Usually, he could guard against them, stop them before they overtook him, but he had been concentrating too much on her and the unwelcome images had surprised him. He did not remember standing, but he was, his fists clenched, and Hawke was standing now, too, staring up at him with concern, her hand on his upper arm. He could not feel the touch physically through the steel spaulder he wore, but his body reacted to it just the same. He shook his head and pressed the fingers of one hand to his brow.

"Forgive me, it is a passionate subject for me."

"You still see it in your mind sometimes, don't you? What happened with at the Ferelden Circle?" she asked, frankly, with crushing gentleness. Despite all the work they had done together over the last three years, she had never touched him, never spoken to him with such…intimacy, if that was the word for it…and it shot through his defenses like an arrow through chainmail.

"Not as much now, but yes. At times."

She nodded as if this confirmed what she already knew.

"I knew a man in the Ferelden army who had been tortured by the Orlesians during the war when he was a young man and he had terrible nightmares, sometimes even waking dreams, of it. I'm sorry that it happened to you, Cullen. You did not deserve that."

He stared down into her eyes for a moment, conflicting and contradictory emotions battling for dominance inside of him. There was nothing but sincerity, naked empathy for his pain, in her eyes, and that melted his heart.

"If you want to chase abominations, why not join the Order?" he asked, after he had found his voice again a moment later, "I know you serve the Maker in your heart and the Maker knows I could use the help."

She smiled, ruefully, and shook her head, as she drew back her hand.

"Don't think I haven't considered it. But with Bethany in the Circle and my brother gone, I can't. I have the estate and Mother to care for. Secular life keeps me hopping enough."

"The two spheres aren't mutually exclusive." He urged, warming to the idea. Despite her views on mages, he had no doubt Hawke would make an ideal templar. Spiritually, he suspected she was part of the way there already. And if she were in the Order, he thought, selfishly, he would see her more often, and perhaps he could find a way then to say the things that remained trapped like hornets in his heart.

"If I joined, who would you get to do your covert work for you?" she replied, and then her expression grew serious, "I'm more useful to you outside the Order, Cullen. I can go places your templars can't. If you train me, I can be even more useful. You know me well enough by now, I think, to know I would not abuse anything I learned."

"I know." He said, quickly, trying to think despite the distracting, haunting memory of the weight of her hand on his arm, the expression in her eyes. She made a convincing argument, and she was right, she could go places he could not. But he knew what training her would mean, and his heart shuddered to think of it. He sighed, "It's not without risks. That's why there is such a long training period before recruits are granted their knighthood, to weed out those who might be harmed. Without the support of the Order, it would be dangerous indeed."

She cocked her head at this, but he could see her resolve remained unphased.

"I'm not afraid." She said, and he clenched his teeth, shaking his head almost imperceptibly. _You're not afraid because you don't know what you're asking for_.

"That is beside the fact that I would be breaking vows by training you."

"I won't ask you to break your word." She replied, "But surely there are things you could teach me without compromising yourself."

She was stubborn, he knew that well enough from their interactions to date. Like a mabari, once she was set on something, she was intractable. She wanted this, it was strangely important to her for some reason he could not yet fathom, and he had no doubt she would find a way. If not him, then she would find someone else, less scrupulous maybe, and he could not bear to imagine what would happen if something went wrong…

"Let me think about it." He said, and saw her smile, "I promise nothing, but I will think on it and we will see."

"That's all I ask." She said.

"_You_ think about what _I've_ said." He continued, hurriedly, raising his eyebrows at her, "I have no doubt the Order would gladly accept you, and then all of this could be done properly through official channels."

"I will think about it." She promised, and then she touched his arm again, "Thank you. I'm sorry to have to ask this of you, but it is important to me, and I know that I can trust you."

He could think of nothing else to say to this, as she twisted deeper inside of his heart, and so he only nodded.

"I'll send word to you in a few days." He said, and with that, she left, and he sat down heavily behind his desk and pressed his fingers to his temples, wondering how in Andraste's name he got himself into these situations and what he was going to do.


	3. Shouting Across the Divide

_First, apologies to anyone who was keeping up with this story. I had some IRL things get in the way and was hit with a massive writer's block afterwards. This chapter has been a long while coming. Thank you for the adds and the very kind reviews and messages. I hope you enjoy the rest of the story._

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><p>Darktown sweltered in the summer, bringing with it all manner of fevers, lurgies, and infections. The poor suffered, the mages sweated more than usual in their hideaways, and Anders could hardly find the time to sleep, even if sleep had elected to come easily. Truth be told, it was a mercy. Working with patients was one of the few things that completely occupied his mind and made him feel like his life was not one unending string of mischance. And he had more need of that lately than most.<p>

Hawke. He had been certain she was going to kill him after that business in the Gallows tunnels, and at the time he almost would have welcomed it. Justice had never emerged so completely before, a well-spring of righteous rage that swept up Anders' own mind in the torrent and left him helpless in its grip. He had always known it to be a possibility, but he had never considered to be likely. It was Justice after all. Even the twisted amalgamation of their minds, Vengeance, would not bring harm to innocents, he had thought. He was wrong. If Hawke had not been there…

There was a knock at the door. He had forgotten to blow out the lantern before he closed the doors. His bed, sweaty pile of rags and straw that it was, beckoned, but he sighed and went to draw back the bolt. Weary as he was, he could not turn away someone who needed him, but he brought his staff with him just in case. Darktown was hardly safe, even or especially for him.

"Anders." Said an achingly familiar voice, as he opened the door a crack, "It's just me."

Hawke's blue eyes shone in the dim illumination from the doorway, and his heart thrilled maddeningly in his chest. He had just been thinking about her, and here she was. Well, he had been thinking about her all the time recently, but still.

"Come in." he said, pulling the door open all the way and then scanning the street out of habit before he closed the door. A rogue mage could never be too careful. He chided her gently, if only because he needed something to say, "You shouldn't be out alone this late in Darktown. It's not safe."

"I'm in the wrong profession, if safety is my biggest concern." She replied, a wry half-smile, but pained slightly? He turned his gaze elsewhere, awkwardly, "At any rate, I took the hidden exit from my cellar, so I didn't have far to travel."

She slipped a satchel off of her shoulder and held it out to him.

"Supplies for the hard-working healer." She said, "The day-old Varric sends you from the Hanged Man won't keep in this heat. These dry rations should hold up better. Or at least they did well enough for Aveline and me back in our marching days. Some of them she was quite sentimental about."

"Thanks." He said, taking the pack, "I think."

Hawk smiled then, and he had to turn away again to stop the hurt in his heart from looking at her.

"Save you a few trips upstairs, anyway. I put a few extras as well. Everyone needs the little things to keep their spirits up now and then."

"You don't have to coddle me, Hawke." He said, then, suddenly irritated though he could not have said why. She was silent for a moment, regarding him in a way that made him want to slink off, ashamed of himself. It was maddening, the effect she had on him.

"I just thought you might need some fresh supplies." She continued, after an awkward moment, "Varric and Isabella say you've been holed up down here, and I know you're busy. I'm sure your patients could use them, if you've got enough put by."

"I…" he started, intending to shoot back a retort, but found he did not have one. She was checking up on him, obviously, whether she would admit it or not. He couldn't blame her for that, but it made him anxious, as did the expression in her eyes when she looked at him. He knew well enough what she wanted, what she hoped to hear from him, but he couldn't bear to think about it, especially not now, "Thank you. I'm sorry, I'm just…it's late."

"I know. I hadn't planned to stay long." She said, and he thought she might wish him goodnight and leave, but she stopped, "Anders, I care about you. You know that."

_Here we go_, he thought, and was about to warn her off the subject yet again before they got into an argument, when she shook her head to stop him.

"I just worry for you. I wish you were happier. If I overstep, that's why."

What could you say to that? He stared at her for a long moment, feelings that he could not identify…would _not_ identify for both of their sakes…swarming through him. _It would never work_, the part of him that was Justice said. _She would only distract you, and you would only hurt her_. _Your happiness is a small thing, compared to what you must achieve. She does not understand._

"I know." He said.

"I'll leave you to it." She said, then. The air in the hovel was palpable with things unsaid. If he stopped her, asked her to stay with him, she would, her tone declared it. But he did not and the moment passed. She nodded in parting, and turned towards the door, "Good night."

"Good night." he answered in refrain, and bolted the door behind her. He heard her sigh through the flimsy wood as she took herself back to her manor and leaned his forehead against the rough surface, closing his eyes and trying not to think of her lips against his, the frenzied longings of body and soul too long denied. He dragged himself over to his pallet and flopped down.

"It will be worth it. It will." He told himself, "It has to be."

But even as his dreams overtook him, he could not make himself believe it.


	4. The Things Unsaid

"A visitor for you, messere." The steward's muffled voice said outside Nora's chamber, "Your mother is entertaining him in the hall right now."

Nora frowned as she finished lacing her breeches. There were no appointments scheduled for today and she was not expecting anyone. Doubtless, it was another one of the insipid blue-blood suitors that Mother insisted on pushing at her lately. Her social life had become complex over the last few years. When she wasn't dealing with business or friends, it seemed like she was constantly ducking the attentions of suitors and other fortune hunters.

"I'll be down in a moment." She called back, before hastily pulling her boots on. She had not slept well last night, but that was hardly out of the ordinary these days. Ever since the failed interlude with Fenris, her dreams had been a vexing muddle. And now there was Anders. Nora sighed and straightened, turning to study herself in the mirror as she smoothed her tunic down. This was as good as it was going to get. If the suitor wanted her for a wealthy wife, he would have to take her as she was, boots and breeches and perpetually mussed hair and all.

Her mother's voice droned from below as Nora descended the stairs, attempting to arrange her features into a suitable expression of greeting. She had to stop herself from gaping in surprise, though, as she recognized the visitor. Cullen stood near the fireplace, nearly back into a corner by her mother's "polite" conversation. Had she ever seen him out of his armor before? Civilian clothes agreed with him, she noted, and felt her face flush a little.

"And I suppose your work goes well. At the Circle." Mother was saying, pointedly. Cullen seemed about to reply and then caught Nora's eye and turned, gratefully, with a nod.

"Sirrah Hawke." He said, formally for her mother's benefit, and Nora returned the courtesy, trying to cover an amused smile.

"Ser Cullen. It's good to see you as always."

"I've just been saying how _long_ it's been. Since his last visit, I mean." Her mother said, sniffing, as if reserving other remarks for herself, "But I suppose my daughter can entertain you well enough, Ser Cullen. I will leave you young people to it, if you will excuse me."

"Of course, mistress." Cullen replied, politely, and then waited until the elder Amell was out of earshot before taking a deep breath, "Your mother is keeping well these last few years, I see."

Nora laughed, "My father used to say she could run a Mabari into the ground. I suppose it's a family trait. So, to what do we owe the pleasure of a visit?"

"A social call." He admitted, smiling at her joke. She hadn't noticed before, but he had a nice smile. "Even a Templar gets a day off now and then, and I thought I might walk out to the coast. If you are free, then perhaps you would like to join me. A change of scenery, and I believe we have a few things to discuss as well."

Ah. Hawke's chest tightened slightly at the reminder of the favor she had asked of him the last time they spoke.

"Let me collect a few things, and I'll be happy to walk with you." She replied, with a half-smile, and jogged up the stairs to fetch her swordbelt and pouch.

~~0~~

The fresh, sea air outside of Kirkwall was invigorating. It was one of the things she appreciated about her new home. Today, the weather was sunny, she was outside of the walls, and she was in good company. Nora felt the exertion of the walk lift her spirits considerably. Cullen also seemed to be in good humor, and as they chatted, it was easy to forget their respective stations in life and simply be two friends on a ramble.

"Do you miss anything about Ferelden?" he asked her, as they picked their way up over the rocks towards the headland.

"The dogs, naturally." She replied, grinning, an old joke among the refugee population, "Lothering wasn't that much to miss, to be honest. Most of what I cared about there came with me. If I miss anything, I suppose it's that people there seemed to be more genuine. What you saw was what you got."

"I know what you mean." He replied, as he hopped a small divide between boulders, "Things here do seem more…complicated sometimes, I suppose."

"And you?" She asked, turning the question around on him, "What do you miss about the rugged south?

"I'm not sure I should say." He returned, but he was teasing her.

"You can't ask the question and then refuse to answer it yourself. Go on, I'm listening."

"The women." He admitted, and then looked away, slightly embarrassed, "Ferelden women are…well, you see." He gestured at her, and she smacked him playfully on the shoulder in mock offense, "Marcher girls are too delicate."

"I guess I'll take that as a compliment." She said loftily. They were nearing the summit of the headland now, and the breezes was picking up, flicking her hair around her face, "So, that's why you haven't been snapped up by some high-born lady, then? I'm sure a Knight Captain would be a quite a catch."

"Well, that and it often feels like I'm already married to the Order at times." He replied, grunting as he pulled himself up onto the gently rounded embankment of the tor. He offered his hand down, and she grasped it, pulling herself up beside him, "I suppose the right woman just hasn't come along yet."

She looked up into his clear eyes for a moment, and felt something twist inside of her. If only it was that simple. She thought she had found the right one, but that was a mistake. And Anders...well, who knew how that would turn out. If only it could be as straightforward as just meeting the right person.

Nora realized that her hand was still clasped in Cullen's and dropped it, smiling sheepishly, before taking a few steps away to look out over the sweeping panorama of the Wounded Coast.

~~0~~

They rested awhile and broke out the skin of wine and packet of cheese and bread that Nora had brought from her kitchen, munching as they enjoyed the afternoon. Finally, though, Cullen brought up the subject that had been weighing on Nora for days.

"About the Templar business." He began, hesitantly, "I thought it would be better to discuss it out here. It's not something that I would want anyone to overhear."

"Probably wise." She agreed, "I don't want to get you into trouble."

"Have you thought about my offer? I would happy to sponsor you as a recruit, and I'm certain you would have no difficulty moving up through the ranks."

"It is tempting. I miss the structure that the army provided back in Ferelden," She said, and then shook her head, "But the Maker has not called me to be a Templar, Cullen. It would be wrong to take those vows under false pretenses. And I have a sister in the Circle. You know me well enough by now to know that that colors my opinions on mages somewhat. How could I serve the Order adequately with such a conflict of interest on my conscience?"

He gazed at her for a long moment. Something in what she said had touched a nerve, she could see it. She knew about his experiences at the Ferelden Circle, and she had always admired the fact that despite his utter conviction that mages were dangerous, he still treated them as human beings. There was, perhaps, more to the story than she had previously gathered. Now was not the time, though.

"I see your point, Hawke. And are you still determined to learn? Will it really help you that much?"

"Yes." She said, and he sighed.

"I'll teach you what I can, then, within the limits of my vows. But under two conditions, only. The first, that you will do exactly as I tell you, no more and no less. You will need to be exposed to lyrium in order for this work. It is extremely dangerous. I know that you've met Samson, the ex-Templar. His condition and worse is what can happen to you if things are done improperly. You need to understand this before we proceed."

"I understand." She said, nodding, "And the second condition?"

"That you will swear an oath before the Maker that you will never reveal what you have been taught to another person outside of the Order and that you will use it only in service of the Maker and justice. Since you are not bound by the normal vows of a Templar, I must have these assurances from you, and I know you are good to your word."

Nora felt her heartbeat increase, pounding against her ribs. The world seemed to hang on the moment. Cullen was staring at her with such an intense expression that she almost felt as if he could read the truth in her very mind. He was right, though. She would not make an oath she could not keep. Closing her eyes, she searched her own conscience. The first oath was not an issue. Maker willing, she would never have to use what she learned anyway. But the second…what did it mean to serve the Maker? Did it include or encompass serving the Chantry and the Order and their treatment of mages? Was that what the Maker wanted? Would allowing Anders to remain free and alive so long as he presented no threat conflict with serving the Maker?

She thought of her sister, a veritable prisoner in the tower. Was it justice, the Maker's will, that innocent people like Bethany be kept captive their entire lives, separated from their families? Nora could not think so. Whatever the Maker had intended, she was certain that the Circle, as it was, could not be it. And so the will of the Chantry and the Templars was a separate thing than the will of the Maker.

"I swear before the Maker and his Bride that I will neither reveal what I am taught nor use it in a way profane to the Maker's purposes."

Cullen relaxed slightly, or was that slump of the shoulders indicative of some other emotion?

"I'll need a few days to get the materials together. I'll send word as to where you will need to meet me" He said, "You should spend some time praying, preparing yourself."

"Thank you for this." She said, gratefully. He nodded, but did not smile. The sun was starting to set towards the horizon, casting an orange glow over the improbably landscapes of the coast. He rose from where they sat on the rocks, "We should be headed back."

She stood, folding the square of cloth that had held the food and tucking it into her belt as she looked out across the flame-colored sea.

"Beautiful." She said. Cullen shuffled somewhere behind her.

"I know." He replied, after a moment, and they made their way back down to the path and to Kirkwall.


End file.
